


Peaches

by Sholio



Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth, Neal and Peter after the apocalypse. (Written for <a href="http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/17443.html?thread=511011#t511011">this prompt</a> at CollarCorner.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaches

"Omigosh," El gasped, "Neal, _look._ They have _peaches._ " She cradled two cans in her hands. "Peaches, Neal!"

"Would you and your peaches like to be alone?" Neal teased.

El wrinkled her nose at him. "Smartass. I remember what your face looked like when we found the store that still had caviar."

Neal laughed. "I also remember what _Peter's_ face looked like."

"Ooh," El said, reluctantly setting down her peach cans. "That reminds me, I need to check and see if they have deviled ham."

"Would you two speed it up back there?" Peter called. "Just fill up the bags and let's go." From here, he was only dimly visible to El, framed against the light: a dim figure in the entrance with a shotgun. They had learned the hard way that it was necessary to always post a lookout.

Still, it was rare to find grocery stores anymore that hadn't been completely stripped. El sighed as they unzipped their backpacks and canvas duffles and began to fill them with canned and packaged goods -- if only they could take it all, but they had no way to carry it.

_That's selfish of me, though,_ she thought. Perhaps the next survivor who came along would need it more than they did. Perhaps this little store in a town not even big enough to have a Wal-Mart would save someone's life.

Thinking of that, El put one of the cans of peaches back on the shelf, leaving it for someone else.

She and Neal lugged their burdens to the front of the store, where Peter took the backpack that El had filled for him and shouldered one of the duffles. El took the other; she and Neal would trade off. By now they had a system, smooth and practiced, no need for instructions or questions. 

"I got you three cans of deviled ham," El said, kissing Peter's cheek before stooping to pick up the duffle.

Peter grinned, but his eyes were never still, roaming from the little country store to the highway stretching between overgrown fields. "Thanks, hon, but we ought to get moving."

He didn't have to say why. It wasn't safe to stay in one place too long, especially somewhere as indefensible as this.

They left the store behind and followed the shoulder of the empty highway, with the afternoon sun at their backs. El settled into her walking stride, easily keeping up with her companions' longer legs. Living on the road and running for her life might suck as a lifestyle choice, but she was in better shape than she had been at any time in her life, even as a teenager. When Neal passed her the duffle, she took it without breaking stride.

There were times when she still woke at night crying -- missing her family, worrying about friends whose whereabouts were unknown (it had been a week since they'd seen Mozzie, though Neal thought he was still fine, just staying out of sight), desperate to return to the life that was now gone beyond recovery. But then there were days like this: beautiful sunshine, nothing trying to kill them, feeling the pleasant burn of her muscles and listening to Neal and Peter's friendly bickering.

These were good days. Days filled with friendship and love, and even canned peaches to look forward to for dessert tonight.

She always tried to save up these days against the bad ones ahead.


End file.
